Christmas Pretty
by Lixxle
Summary: Seasonal sequel to 'My Fine Feathered Friend'. On the first Underground Christmas, Sarah's true love gave to her...well, it's the thought that counts. A Christmas tale of leather, goblins, and the odd stunted unicorn.
1. Chapter 1

**Christmas Pretty**

Never in my wildest, Goblin King-encrusted dreams did I plan on writing a Christmas fic, _especially_ not a sequel to 'My Fine Feathered Friend'; that is, of course, until I saw Pika-la-Cynique's mega squee-inducing pic of Skeep entitled 'Christmas Pretty'. Behold it (and Skeep's shiny toes) in all its glory at deviantart (or check out the link on my profile page).

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own the Labyrinth, Christmas, kicking boots, or jewel-y, jewel-y, black armor. All I want for Christmas is the Goblin King in my Christmas stocking. How he chooses to wear the aforementioned Christmas stocking is entirely up to him...

***

**Chapter 1: The Perils of Peach Lipgloss (or "Oh Goblin King/Oh Goblin King/Your boots are oh-so pointy")**

It has often been said that there were dangers untold in the Goblin Kingdom.

Those who had never ventured through the Kingdom's borders thought that these dangers referred to the fearsome beasts and devilishly clever traps that were scattered across the land as liberally as signposts were scattered across other kingdoms.

Those who _had_ visited the Goblin Kingdom knew that these dangers often took the form of everyday objects that looked quite harmless—until they struck with deadly force. In fact, even a throwaway comment had the potential to cause certain death and dismemberment. For instance, it was quite probable that a certain small goblin would try to poke out your internal organs with a piece of cutlery if you pointed out that his red tea cosy hat clashed terribly with his pink stilettos. Or a perfectly normal-looking, yet highly vindictive, black chicken would most likely go for your jugular if you happened to speculate out loud about the probable succulence of her drumsticks.

Yet the inhabitants of the Goblin Kingdom who themselves were the fearsome beasts that lived amongst the cunning traps—and who had learnt the hard way not to criticize anyone's wardrobe or speculate on anyone's potential tastiness—knew that the true danger in the kingdom was actually a rather slender man with wild, star-kissed hair and a penchant for kinky, equestrian-themed accessories. Everyone knew that there was nothing to fear in the kingdom but the King himself; after all, _he_ had set the cunning traps, _he_ had unleashed the monsters, _he_ had created the foulest of foul punishments, most notable being the 'Bog of Eternal Stench', the 'Swamp of Perpetual Suffering', and 'Mandatory Bath Day' (which fell on the first Thursday of every month).

Hence, in the name of survival, most of the citizens of the Goblin Kingdom had learnt to watch for certain signs that their notoriously bipolar monarch was in a Bad Mood. In fact, one citizen had compiled these signs into a wildly successful pamphlet entitled: 'Yer Probably Gonna Be Bogged: Twenty Signs That The King Ain't Pleased With Yer.' This pamphlet—stealthily distributed in the back rooms of _The Feisty Chicken Tavern_ until that noble establishment burnt to the ground during an illegal gnome wrestling tournament—claimed that a surefire way of discerning the King's mood was by observing his choice of wardrobe. Specifically, it warned citizens to avoid the King when he was wearing armor, black, the boots with the pointy toes that had been custom-built for kicking, and anything that was excessively glittery, jewel-encrusted, or sparkly (more so than usual). Woe betide anyone foolish enough to garner the King's notice when he was wearing glittered-up black armor and kicking boots, particularly if he chose to accessorize it with peach lipgloss.

The pamphlet also stated that the King's song choices could often give a clear indication of his intentions toward his unlucky subjects. Songs that began with the lyrics "You remind me of the babe" were deemed safe; songs that began with the lyrics "You remind me of something that should to be bogged" were typically deemed not quite as safe and were generally not as catchy. The pamphlet recommended running away as quickly as possible if the King spontaneously burst into a song that contained the lyrics "dismemberment," "I will swamp you," "Certain Death," and "feed you to the freezer alligator. "

Given the contents of the pamphlet, it was not surprising that the goblins standing around the chicken-littered throne room of the Castle Beyond The Goblin City were immediately on guard when their King made his entrance.

"Oh no. Is that armor?" whispered the goblin with the blue horns as the King walked determinedly toward the throne.

There was a decidedly loud clatter as the King attempted his customary sprawl on the uncomfortable chair.

The goblin with the blue tusks looked up from his game of dice. "Sounds like it."

Ignor adjusted the rusty sieve on his head and peered at the King. "It looks and sounds like black armor."

At that precise moment, a shaft of sunlight filtered through one of the round tower windows and gently flirted with the jewel-encrusted ornamentation scattered along the King's costume.

"AHHHHHHHH!!!" yelled the goblins, desperately trying to shield their eyes.

"Blinded by the armor!" yelled the goblin with the frypan on his head.

"The jewel-y, jewel-y armor!" wailed Squibble.

"That's the worst kind!" groaned the goblin with the blue horns.

"Pretty…deadly," Skeep winced, covering his rubber duck's eyes.

Beep buried his face in his hands. "Please don't tell me he's wearing the kicking boots. Please don't tell me…."

Skeep carefully pried opened one of his eyelids and looked at the King's legs.

"Yep!" he said cheerfully. He looked at the boots and sighed. "Pointy."

"This is bad," muttered Ignor.

"It might be okay," said the goblin with the blue horns with a shaky smile.

"Oh no!" wailed Beep.

"What?" asked the goblin with the frypan hat.

Beep pointed a trembling finger toward the King's head. "Peach lipgloss"

"Two coats," Skeep said, nodding authoritatively.

Ignor shook his head. "We're doomed."

"I'm too sober for peach lipgloss," said that frypan goblin. "If you need me, I'll be in the ale keg nearest to the door."

The goblins watched as the frypan goblin ran across the throne room and launched himself headfirst into the half-empty keg of ale.

"Remind me not to drink from that one," Squibble said, looking down at the empty tankard in his hand.

Skeep shook his little tea-cosy-covered head. "Not delicious."

They all turned their attention back to the King, who was now tapping his riding crop impatiently on his armored thigh.

"It might still be ok," said the goblin with the blue horns with desperate optimism. "As long as he doesn't sing."

At that moment, seemingly out of the ether, an electric guitar struck up a few mournful, emo-esque chords. The King stood up from the throne and struck a melodramatic pose, his long cloak fluttering around him like a hyperactive shadow.

"Oh no! Song coming!" yelled Skeep.

"Maybe it's a happy song," said the blue-horned goblin, still in denial about the hopelessness of the situation.

"Something about chickens would be nice," suggested Squibble.

It wasn't about chickens.

It was about defenestration.

And it was accompanied by demonstrations.

Beep buried his face in his hands again as yet another goblin was punted out the tower window. "This is a bad song."

"Though it's got a good beat," said Squibble, humming along.

Skeep nodded. "Catchy." He swayed his rubber duck along to the music.

It also had an impressive finale. The goblins who hadn't been tossed out of the tower window clapped enthusiastically as their King held a high note for fifteen bars whilst kicking three goblins, a chicken, and a potted plant out the window in quick succession.

Ignor shook his head in wonder. "You gotta hand it to the King—those are some excellent kicking boots."

Skeep looked down at his grubby pink stilettos wistfully. He scrunched up his little face in determination and turned to the nearest potted plant. Raising his skinny little leg, he kicked the plant as hard has he could.

The plant didn't even have the grace to wobble.

Skeep sighed and then gently patted one of the plant's wilted leaves. "Sorry."

Beep snickered. "I guess those aren't kicking heels."

Skeep turned to Beep and delicately stabbed him in the leg with his stiletto.

"Agh! My shin!" Beep wailed, clutching his leg.

"Stabby," Skeep said, patting his heels in satisfaction.

"Well," said Squibble, ignoring Beep, who was now rolling around the floor in agony. "There's been singing and blinding so the worst is probably over."

It wasn't.

The King settled back onto his throne and, with a flick of his black-gloved wrist, conjured a crystal. His gaze softened for a moment as he peered in its depths, the tip of his index finger caressing the surface with intense adoration.

But then his jaw hardened.

"Disturb me at your peril," he said, grimly.

At that precise moment, the frypan goblin stood up inside his ale keg, swaying gently from side-to-side.

"Whad I missh?" he slurred.

"Bog," Jareth said dispassionately without even looking up.

"AHHHHHHHHH—" yelled the frypan goblin and then abruptly disappeared with an audible 'pop'.

There was complete silence as the other goblins looked at each other in terror.

Until someone sneezed.

"Swamp," Jareth noted absentmindedly, twisting the crystal a little to the right.

"AHHHHHHHHH—," yelled the sneezy goblin, until he, too, disappeared—this time with a rather moist sucking sound.

All was quiet again…until one goblin had the supreme misfortune of inhaling a little too loudly. A chicken shook its head at him and began to cluck disapprovingly.

"Oubliette for you…and your little chicken, too," the King muttered, frowning at the crystal.

The goblin clutched the chicken to his chest. "At least we'll be together."

The irate chicken pecked him on the nose.

"Gah!" yelled the goblin, and both he and his pet disappeared.

This continued for some time until Jareth finally looked up from the crystal. He blinked and turned to Squeak, who was carefully polishing the back of his throne with a rather soiled red rag.

"Where the devil is everyone?" he asked. Unlike this morning, the throne room was now only sparsely decorated with goblins; the few that remained were standing as still as statues, only in odder positions. Jareth raised an exquisitely arched eyebrow at one goblin who had frozen in the act of arm-wrestling a chicken.

Squeak cleared his throat. "If your Majesty would be so good as to check your crystal, you will see that most of your subjects are in the Bog. Or the Swamp. Or hanging upside down in the oubliettes. I believe the others are hiding in the pantry."

"Traitor!" whispered a goblin who was hiding behind a chicken.

Jareth opened his mouth to bog the chicken-sheltered goblin but stopped himself and frowned. "Surely you exaggerate."

With a flick of his wrist, the crystal in his palm shifted so that the King was treated to a view of the Bog of Eternal Stench. To his surprise, a rather large number of goblins were gamely performing what looked like a poorly-choreographed synchronized swimming routine—one that consisted primarily of flailing and swearing and sinking into the Bog's murky depths.

"Hmm, there does appear to be a few more than usual in there," the King conceded.

Squeak cleared his throat. "Ahh, that's only the lot from the last hour, your Majesty."

Jareth's eyes widened. "It seems as though I have bogged my quota for this month."

Squeak cleared his throat again. "Actually, you've bogged your quota for the next decade, Your Majesty." He shrugged. "Just think of it as one less thing on your 'To Do' list."

Jareth nodded. "Quite right; it will leave me more time to pursue other, more pleasurable pursuits." He gave a rather expressive smirk. "Sarah will—." The smirk rapidly gave way to a scowl. Clenching his fist, the King stood up and began to pace the length of the room, his kicking boots making a rather menacing sound on the stone floor. He then stopped abruptly and threw himself back onto his throne, his armor making a spectacular clatter as it hit the crescent bone frame.

Squeak waited until the King had rearranged himself into a pose of regal indolence and then spoke up. "If I may be so bold as to ask, what seems to be the problem, Sire?"

For a moment, Jareth hesitated but then sighed in defeat. "This," he said, holding out the crystal.

The remaining goblins quickly huddled around the throne to get a glimpse of what the King had been watching for hours without pause. Inside the crystal, a woman in a red velvet gown was sitting dejectedly on a stone bench in the middle of a garden. A breeze moved through her long dark hair and teased the silk sash of her gown. As they watched, she listlessly kicked a pebble across the grass.

"Oh! I know her!" Squibble said, excitedly. "It's the Queen!"

Jareth rolled his eyes. "Excellent deduction, you imbecile."

Squibble puffed out his chest proudly.

Skeep shook his head at Squibble in disgust. "Stupid," he said. He then looked back at the crystal. "Queen sad," he noted.

Jareth's expression became grim. "You think so?"

"Oh yes, definitely!" said the goblin with the blue horns.

"She's obviously definitely sad," noted Squibble.

Jareth's expression became even grimmer. "And what, pray tell, do you think is the cause of her distress?" he asked in a deceptively nonchalant tone.

Ignor stroked his chin. "Well, it could be almost anything. She might be hungry."

"Or thirsty," suggested another goblin.

"Or itchy."

"Or sober."

"She might need a song."

"Or a chicken."

"Or a kiss," said Squibble.

All of the goblins looked at Squibble in horror.

Squibble backed up defensively. "It's just that in the soap show that the Queen watches, the ladies are always happier when they have been kissed."

"True," said Skeep. "Happy music plays."

The other goblins nodded at that.

"Or the sexy music," noted the goblin with the blue tusks.

Jareth looked at his subjects in shock. "_Sexy_ music? What the devil do you fellows know about _sexy_ music?"

"Saxophones," Skeep clarified.

The rest of the goblins nodded their agreement.

Jareth tapped his lip in thought. "Saxophones, hey? Well, it's worth a shot. Here," he said, handing the crystal to Squeak. "Hold this."

The King promptly disappeared in a moderate shower of glitter.

"YEAHHHYY!!" the goblins cheered and then huddled around Squeak to watch the show.

Within the crystal, the King suddenly appeared beside the Queen in all his armored glory and promptly swept her into a passionate embrace.

"EEEEEWWWWW!!!" wailed the goblins.

"Romantic," Skeep said, nodding at the royal couple approvingly.

"It's disgusting!" said the goblin with the blue tusks.

"ROMANTIC!" yelled Skeep, removing his buffed kidney-fork from the waistband of his hula skirt. He began to wave it around menacingly.

The goblin with the blue tusks held up his hands in surrender. "How about 'disgustingly romantic'?"

Skeep tilted his head for a moment. "Acceptable," he said, and put his fork away.

The goblins went back to watching the couple.

"Can you hear any saxophones?" asked the goblin with the blue horns, worriedly.

A few of the goblins tried to press their ears against the crystal.

The goblin with the blue tusks lifted his head and sighed. "I can't hear anything."

"I can only hear crystal!" wailed Squibble, rubbing his ear. "That can't be good."

The goblins muttered nervously.

"Do you think she's happier?" asked the goblin with the blue horns.

Squibble shrugged. "It's hard to tell if she's smiling when her mouth is stuck to the King's."

The royal couple finally disengaged from the kiss, both of them swaying ever so slightly.

"Quick," said Ignor. "Can you tell if she's smiling?"

The goblin with the blue horns frowned. "She looks drunk."

Skeep nodded in satisfaction. "Good."

The goblins watched as the King first gently traced the Queen's cheek with his fingertips, then dipped his head toward her, seeming to whisper something in her ear.

Then he disappeared.

In a second, he was back in the throne room.

"YEAHHHHYYY!" the goblins cheered.

Jareth gave his subjects a devilish smirk and took the crystal back from Squeak. "Let's see if the Queen is sad _now_, shall we?"

The goblins huddled around their King and looked into the crystal once more. Inside, the Queen was now sitting on the stone bench looking rather dazed, her fingertips idly tracing her kiss-bruised lips.

"Queen not sad!" Skeep announced.

"She looks sleepy, but in a good way," Squibble noted.

Jareth settled back on his throne. "For once, you idiots were right. All she needed was—"

He stopped abruptly as his Queen' shoulder's slumped, her passion-daze clearly over. After a few moments, she placed her hands over her ears and began to yell.

"That was odd," noted Ignor.

Skeep nodded. "Weird."

The goblin with the blue tusks frowned at the crystal. "Hmm, are you sure you kissed her properly?"

Jareth gave the goblin a look of utmost horror.

"Saxophones play if you do it properly," Ignor noted. "Did you hear any saxophones?"

The King's face began to turn a remarkable shade of red.

Squibble patted the King consolingly on the arm. "It's ok. Not everyone can get kissing right the first time. Do you want us to help? "

Jareth threw off Squibble's hand. "The day that I require seduction advice from my idiotic subjects is the day that I move into a love shack in the middle of the Bog with Hogwort. And for the record—_yes_, I did it properly, and I assure you that a veritable _orchestra_ was playing when I kissed my Queen."

Ignor stroked his chin. "You can't argue with an orchestra. That's pretty convincing."

Skeep nodded. "Loud."

The goblin with the blue tusks peered closely at the crystal. "Maybe she ate something that didn't agree with her."

Squibble slapped his forehead. "Of course! Remember what happened when Rosalinda made Waffle eat the statue of the King out in the courtyard? He looked pretty sad after that, too."

Waffle looked up at the King. Although freezer alligators are not known for the mobility of their facial muscles, the expression on Waffle's face was quite clearly one of guilt mixed with a hint of nostalgic indigestion.

Jareth gave the freezer alligator a hard stare. "I had wondered what had happened to that statue. One more stunt like that and I will be acquiring a lovely new pair of alligator-leather pants…"

The freezer alligator gulped.

"…and matching boots," the King finished with a smirk.

Waffle quickly shuffled to the back of the room and hid behind Rosalinda. The Chicken of Destiny looked up from where she had been pecking the earlobe of a sleeping goblin and shuffled over a little until she was standing protectively in front of the alligator. She then gave the King a filthy look and began to cluck rather menacingly.

Jareth tilted his head and gave the chicken a deliciously sinister smile. "And perhaps I'll gift my lovely wife with a black feathered cloak. What say you, fowl?"

Rosalinda flipped him the claw and began to sharpen her beak on the stone floor.

"Ooooh, she looks mad," Squibble said gleefully.

"It _has_ been a while since her last assassination attempt," noted Ignor.

"She's about due for the next one," added the goblin with the blue tusks.

"Would it be too much to ask for you all to cease plotting my demise and return to the matter at hand?" Jareth said, dryly.

"Sorry King!" said Skeep.

The goblin with the blue tusks crossed his arms stubbornly. "I still think she has a stomach ache."

Jareth shook his head. "I doubt that this is a case of simple indigestion. She has been like this for the past two days, seven hours, and twenty-nine minutes."

Squibble scratched his pointed little chin. "In the soap show that the Queen likes to watch, Victoria looked sad because her evil twin locked her in a closet and took over her identity. Do you think the Queen has an evil twin?"

"The Queen does not have an evil twin," Jareth said, curtly. "She has an evil husband."

Squibble shrugged. "Maybe that's why she is sad."

As the King turned to face Squibble, the goblins could have sworn that his armor became blacker and his kicking boots even pointier. "What," he asked, in a frighteningly pleasant voice, "did you just say?"

"Oooooooooh," crooned the goblins.

Squibble looked around desperately. "It's hard to remember when your brain is scared."

The King gave Squibble a look that could have curdled milk. "You and your idiotic friends will find out why she is like this," he said in a deathly quiet voice.

Squibble nodded quickly.

Jareth's eyes narrowed. "And be subtle about it or there will be boggings for all."

"Ok King!" Skeep said cheerfully.

The goblins hurriedly said their goodbyes and ran out of the throne room as fast as their stubby little legs could carry them.

"No pressure," Jareth called out after them.

The little posse of goblins collectively shuddered—no easy feat whilst running—as the King's sinister laughter chased them from the room.

"This is _so_ not good," panted the goblin with the blue horns as they ran down a long, twisty corridor.

"What happens if we don't find out why she's upset?" asked Squibble as he dodged a drunken goblin who was sprawled on the floor.

"We keep running," said Ignor. "As far away as possible."

"YEAHHHYYY!!! Tijuana!" yelled Skeep, his stilettos clanking loudly on the stone floor.

***

Oh whatever could be wrong with Sarah? Is it the plague? Indigestion? Glitter inhalation? Review (and tell me your theories)!

**AN #1**: Everyone, except Sir Didymus, knew that the author of the mysterious pamphlet was actually Hoggle—including his Majesty. Although writing such an inflammatory piece of propaganda would usually be a bogging offense, His Nibs was actually secretly pleased that his subjects were paying such close attention to his costume choices. However, the section of the pamphlet that speculated, somewhat whimsically, on the King's probable choice of underwear made Jareth feel just a little bit _uncomfortable_ in Hoggle's presence for quite some time. Not to mention somewhat suspicious about Hoggle's sexuality. Very, very suspicious....

**AN #2**: This fic is a Christmas pressie to the crotch-lovin' gals of the Goblin Court (you know who you are, you deviants!). A special thanks to my awesome betas, KnifeEdge and PhurieDae, who literally beat the evil out of this fic, and to the grammar goddess herself, Kore-of-Myth (who is teaching me about the joys of punctuation. So far, it's a love-hate thing). A big Christmas shout-out to Jack Hawksmoor (put down the Star Trek, Jack, and come back to Laby!!) and FaeriesMidwife (get better soon!).


	2. Chapter 2

**AN#1: **Ahh reviewers, you are so generous! And _way_ too clever for your own good! And hilarious. Oh so hilarious! As usual, the reviews are actually better (and funnier) than the story. Did everyone catch BreathOfNocte and Silvermasque's versions of 'Oh Goblin King'? Surely that should be a mandatory seasonal carol for all us fangals. Stuff of legends. Really.

Just a short chapter today. As always, a big thank you to Pika and the mighty betas KnifeEdge, PhurieDae, and Kore-of-Myth. Oh and a quick 'Happy Birthday' to OceanFae (long may you reign in infamy!).

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own the Labyrinth, the Goblin King, or rabid ferrets.

**Chapter 2: ****Even Voyeurism Has Its Downside (or "Jareth sees you when you're dreaming/He knows when you're awake...or eating breakfast...or sitting in the garden...or stepping into the shower. Especially the shower")**

Jareth, King of the Goblins, Master of the Labyrinth, and survivor of twenty-two assassination attempts—seven of which were masterminded by a chicken and her freezer-alligator accomplice—watched the posse of goblins leave the throne room with a feeling of dread. He contemplated bursting into song about his dilemma—something soulful and angst-ridden, perhaps with a cello solo—but thought better of it; it would not do to have his subjects know the true depth of his concern. And besides, he was still a little winded from the defenestration number.

He sighed and looked into the crystal yet again. There was something wrong with his wife. Sarah was a force of nature; typically, she moved through the kingdom like a brunette tornado, instigating new schemes for the benefit of the kingdom and settling disputes amongst their subjects, all the while being followed by a troupe of adoring goblins and other assorted beasties. But lately, she would sit in her garden listlessly for hours on end, her habitual smile replaced by a wistful frown. Oddly enough, she also appeared to be talking to herself—at least that's how it appeared from the other side of the crystal.

But worst of all, she was avoiding him—as much as one could avoid a man with an all-seeing crystal and stalker tendencies—which Jareth found intolerable. For the entirety of their marriage, they had practically lived in each other's pockets; they even shared a throne, primarily because Jareth couldn't bear the thought of his Queen sitting any further than an inch away from him when they were in the same room. Yet, in the past two days, they had barely seen each other and it certainly wasn't his doing; Sarah would leave before he awoke and disappear for the entirety of the day. She would then arrive back at the castle at nightfall, announce that she was exhausted, and fall asleep before he could even ask her about her activities.

Jareth sighed and made a mental note to try and wake up earlier to thwart her escape, but then grudgingly conceded that it would be impossible; he was an owl, not a rooster, and couldn't be a morning person even if he tried. For a moment, he felt a sense of pride in his wife that she had clearly exploited his weakness but it was distressingly short-lived.

"Bloody nocturnal owl form," he muttered.

Just as he was contemplating whether or not he could transform into some form of regal owl/rooster hybrid in order to sort this matter out, his inner voice threw up its hands in exasperation.

_Enough! Just ask her what's wrong, you pathetic git_. _Beg her to tell you, if you must._

"Kings do not ask," Jareth told his inner voice, curtly. "Kings do not _beg_."

His inner voice snorted rather elegantly. _I believe I heard you _ask_ something of Sarah four nights ago. Something that involved tassels and the odd bit of adult-type touching. And once she agreed, I also believe that there was some _begging. The inner voice smirked. _At least, that's what I thought you were doing in that position…_

"Shut up!" the King said tersely. But he paused momentarily to enjoy the flashback that his inner voice had provided. He gave a wolfish smile. "Duly noted. There are times when asking and begging can lead to kingly rewards."  
_  
And yet, rather than ask her yourself, you sent off a posse of idiots to find out what ails your Queen. Might I remind you that these are the same goblins who took the Cleaners on a drunken joyride last week?  
_  
Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose.  
_  
Which is why your previously unsolvable Labyrinth now has a tunnel that leads straight from the front gates to the Castle._  
_  
_Jareth rubbed a gloved hand wearily over his eyes.  
_  
And it just so happens that these are the same goblins who painted themselves with orange house paint after seeing an advertisement_ _on television extolling the virtues of fake tans._

"Actually," Jareth interrupted with a pointy grin, "that was somewhat amusing."

The inner voice raised its eyebrow. _Really? And was it also amusing when you caught them conspiring to stake you after they watched that Dracula film?_

Jareth grimaced.  
_  
Not that I blame them—you are pallid enough to be one of the undead._

"Yes, yes, _shut up_. Your thoughts on the matter are duly noted," Jareth grumbled.

The inner voice eyed Jareth speculatively. _It is my opinion that you refused to ask her why she is upset because you are worried that you are the cause._

Jareth opened his mouth to refute the claim but thought better of it; one can't lie to oneself, though he had tried often enough. He nonchalantly brushed a speck of glitter from his armor. "And if I am the cause?"

The voice snorted.

Jareth's shoulders slumped in defeat, all pretenses gone. "I am starting to believe that my fairytale has been living on borrowed time." He leapt up from the throne and began pacing. "You know as well as I do that villains _do not _live happily ever after. They _do not_ get the girl. They get attacked by wolves, or flattened by flying houses, or chased off mountains by a horde of dwarves, or eaten by rabid ferrets..."

_Ferrets? Really?_

Jareth waved his hand dismissively. "Or something equally distasteful." He flung himself back on the seat, despair personified.

_And now you believe your time is up? _

Jareth gave a curt nod.  
_  
That Sarah has come to her senses and is planning to leave your sorry, tight-panted behind?_

Jareth's jaw hardened and he nodded again.

_That the 'rabid ferrets of death' are coming for you?_

Jareth glared at the voice.

The inner voice ignored the glare and shook its head. _Either the idiocy of your subjects is contagious or your intellect is being crushed under the weight of all that armor you've taken to wearing._

Jareth raised an eyebrow. "Are you insulting me for sport or is there some point to your tirade?"

_A point, of course; are you,_ _or are you not, the Goblin King?_

Jareth placed a hand over his heart. "Oh! To be able to answer in the negative..."

The voice ignored him. _Then act like it! Do what you do best—sing, strut, seduce. Throw on a bordello jumpsuit and get on with it, old boy!_

Jareth grimaced. "It appears that not all my problems can be solved by donning leather clothing."

The voice looked at him in horror. _Bite. Your. Tongue_.

Jareth gestured at the crystal where Sarah was sitting, shoulders slumped, a wistful expression on her face. "Look at her—she is clearly distressed and it must have something to do with me otherwise she would have told me herself."

_Hmm, that is a good point._

Jareth's heart—twisted little organ that it was—gave a painful lurch. He rubbed his eyes wearily. "I could wear the hides of a whole herd of animals right now and she wouldn't even notice."

_The herd would probably notice, _the voice said dryly. The voice then frowned as Jareth slumped on the throne without a care for appearances. _If you can't make her forget her problems with leather, you could always do it with fruit—the peaches are lovely this time of year…_

Jareth snorted elegantly. "As you well know, Sarah becomes somewhat irate when I ply her with hallucinogens without her consent."

_Sarah can be exceedingly close minded, _the voice conceded. The voice looked at Jareth shrewdly. _Come on; it'll be _just _like old times, _it purred persuasively.

Jareth stared down at the crystal. "I am not drugging my wife." At that moment, Sarah rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Yet," he finished grimly.

The voice smirked knowingly. _I'll start organizing a fruit platter…_

**

**AN #2:** Deep within a cavern, hidden far from prying eyes, four small, robed figures huddled around an enchanted puddle. On its surface, they could see a messy, chicken-littered throne room; they watched closely as a blond, black armor-clad man had an animated conversation with himself. At one point, the four figures swore viciously.

"Dude, he's onto us," said the first Rabid Ferret of Death.

The second Rabid Ferret of Death adjusted his cowl and sighed. "Appears so."

The third shook his head stubbornly. "No way! No one sees us coming; it was a lucky guess on his part! I say we go ahead with the plan."

The fourth daintily wiped a fleck of foam from his mouth and put a comforting hand on the third's shoulder. "Can't do it, buddy. GK has figured out the plot." Seeing that the third was still shaking his head, he smirked. "How about we pay Goldilocks a visit, hey?"

The third Rabid Ferret of Death raised an eyebrow. "But she's Good!"

The first Rabid Ferret of Death looked at the third Rabid Ferret of Death long and hard. "Is she, Dimetri? Is she _really_?"

"We have her on trespassing and breaking-and-entering..." said the fourth.

"...not to mention willful destruction of private property and porridge eating," added the second.

"Let's roll!" yelled Dimetri.


	3. Chapter 3

(Given that the other chapter was so short, I've decided to upload another one on the very same day. Never say that I don't give you people the love...and the crotch. Mainly the crotch)

**Chapter 3: Sarah's Dreaming of a White Christmas (and bordello jumpsuits)**

Sarah Williams—Champion of the Labyrinth and Queen of the Goblin Kingdom—had spent the better part of the day sitting on a moss-covered bench in the Queen's Garden. In fact, she had spent the better part of the last _two_ days in the walled garden that Hoggle and the other dwarf gardeners had built for her as a wedding present. Yet, despite the hours she had spent in the garden, she remained completely oblivious to the strange beauty of her surroundings; she didn't notice the profusion of flowers that had opened especially for her as she paced across the soft, golden grass, or the fairies who watched curiously from amongst the silvery petals. She didn't even notice the soothing lilt of running water as it defied gravity and cascaded up into the glittery, sandstone fountain. Luckily for Jareth, she was also completely oblivious to the fact that her husband and his subjects were currently watching her in a voyeuristic fashion from the safety of the throne room, desperately trying to figure out why she appeared to be so distressed.

No, Sarah had other things on her mind.

Her inner voice gave a little sigh. _So, when are you going to stop avoiding your fine-bodied husband and tell him that you're homesick?_

Sarah kicked at a pebble next to her shoe. "You know I can't do that! You know what Jareth's like; he'll jump to the wrong conclusion and think that I'm unhappy with him rather than just feeling a little down."  
_  
_The inner voice nodded. _That's true. He'd probably break into one of those sad songs with a cello solo and lots of high notes and then go and sit in the Escher room for hours._

Sarah sighed. "Probably."

_Well, we want to avoid that at all costs. But you're going to have to try another tactic. This avoidance thing isn't working_—_he's hurt, you know; you should have seen the look on his face when you came home last night and practically ran past him with barely a 'goodnight'._

Unconsciously, Sarah clutched at the red velvet fabric directly over her heart. "Really?" she said, stricken.

The voice nodded then looked at her speculatively. _Besides, it's not like you to avoid a situation; you're more likely to confront_—_and possibly destroy property._

Sarah stood up and began pacing across the garden. "I know, but this situation calls for a tactical retreat. I don't want him to see that I'm homesick; the best way to make sure that he doesn't find out is to avoid him."

The inner voice shook its head in exasperation. _Can't you just fake being happy around him?_

Sarah shook her head. "He'd see through it in a flash."  
_  
Pfft. And to think you wanted to be an actress._

Sarah, in the height of eloquence, stuck out her tongue.

The voice gave her a shrewd look. _Are you happy here, Sarah? _

Sarah stopped pacing and for the first time that day, she smiled. Gloriously. "Yes," she said softly, "yes I am." She gestured to the garden. "All of this is like living in a fairytale. And the best part about it is—"

—_the adult-type touching with your bordello jumpsuit-clad husband? _the voice interrupted.  
_  
_Sarah rolled her eyes. "Actually, I was going to say that the best part about it is that it is all real." She paused for a moment and then grinned. "Although the adult-type touching is pretty great."

_Amen to that, sister, _the voice said solemnly.  
_  
_Slowly, Sarah walked back to the stone bench and sat down. "It's just that it's Christmas," she said wistfully, her fingers twisting in the velvet folds of her skirt. "I know that it probably seems stupid to you, but with all the crazy changes in my life over the past year, I was really looking forward to getting together with my family and having a traditional family Christmas." She laughed a little. "To think I used to dream of ways of avoiding Christmas dinner when I was younger."

_What? You contemplated missing Karen's seasonal ham à la evil? _the voice said dryly.

Sarah grimaced. "Ok, _that _I don't miss."  
_  
_The inner voice shook its head. _She cooks the same thing every year_—_you'd think she'd get it right by now._ _ What does she season that ham with to get it tasting so gritty and vile? Concrete and loathing? _

Sarah shuddered. "That sounds about right."

_Well, Karen's culinary 'touch of death' aside, a traditional Christmas is impossible this year; your traitorous family has deserted you to spend Christmas in Hawaii._

Sarah rolled her eyes. "They aren't traitorous; it's the only time that Dad could get off work and they've have been looking forward to that holiday all year. But I just wish—"

_Careful! _the voice warned. _You don't want them falling out of the plane and landing at your feet, do you?  
_  
"I _would have liked," _Sarah hurriedly amended, "for them to have been around this year of all years. I need them."

The voice patted her on the arm. _What you need is to stop whipping yourself into a frenzy over something that is going to pass in a few days; really, all you need is a little distraction. Just sit back for a moment and enjoy the beautiful view; look at all the pretty flowers, the darling little fountain, the vicious little fairies. All we need is your delicious husband to appear and this would be a perfect setting.__  
_  
At that precise second, Jareth appeared, resplendent in dark armor and with a rather determined glint in his mismatched eyes.  
_  
Ask and you shall receive_, her inner voice said in awed delight as the King moved swiftly toward Sarah. _Quick! Ask for him to be naked,_ the voice said, gleefully.

Before she could respond, Sarah was lifted from the bench and pressed along the hard length of the Goblin King's body. She had only a glimpse of the devilish expression in his mismatched eyes before he lowered his head and began to mercilessly ravish her mouth. Within a heartbeat, she forgot why she had been avoiding him for the past two days. She forgot why she had been feeling wistful. Her whole world fell down around her and was reformed until it was composed of only the wet, velvet-soft, heat of his mouth against hers, the cool, silken slide of his hair between her fingers, the searing warmth of his hand against the small of her back, and...good lord!....the _taste _of him. She could have sworn that she heard the faint strains of an orchestra as she wound herself around him like ivy and pulled him even closer to her body, dragging the kiss higher, wilder. His answering growl was low and dark and delicious against her lips and the sound vibrated through her very cells made her knees _buckle. _She felt, rather than heard, Jareth laugh against her lips as he caught her before she slid to the floor in a delicate tangle of limbs and hormones.

Reluctantly, Sarah opened her eyes. Jareth was looking down at her, amusement warring with something dangerous and carnal in those odd eyes. She felt herself smiling up at him—a drowsy, sated smile—and the expression in his eyes changed to something so openly _adoring_ that her heart twisted a little at the sight. Tenderly, he brushed his fingertips across her cheek and then dipped his head so that his lips were beside her ear.

"_Precious_," he whispered huskily, the tips of his hair caressing her cheek.

And then, he was gone.

Without Jareth there to hold her up, Sarah's legs finally gave out and she landed, rather fortuitously, on the stone bench.

_Well, that was brief but pleasant_, the voice said happily. "Yes," Sarah said dazedly, idly tracing her lips with her fingertips.

Although her brain was almost gelatenous with joy, a stray thought began to wave its hands, frantically trying to get her attention. "He's wearing armor," she said thoughtfully.  
_  
_The inner voice looked at the small pile of glitter that marked the place where the King had disappeared. _Worse still—he's wearing the jewel-y, jewel-y, black armor; that's not a good sign. Odds are that he knows something is wrong. You'd best tell him before he completely misinterprets the situation and thinks things are much more serious than they really are. _The inner voice pursed its lips. _He might come to the conclusion that you're pregnant....  
_  
Sarah stopped brushing glitter from her long, red velvet skirts and looked at the voice incredulously. "Why would he think that I'm _pregnant_?"  
_  
Well, when a Goblin King and a Goblin Queen love each other very much_—_and are continually performing perverse acts of adult-type touching on every sturdy surface in the Goblin Kingdom_—_procreation is eventually inevitable. And you have been very moody lately...._

Sarah's eyes widened even further. "Procreation is not inevitable! I've—," Sarah stopped, her cheeks tinged with pink. "got the situation under control," she whispered.

The inner voice patted Sarah on the head in a comforting fashion. _Of course you do. But you're married to ridiculously virile man—I doubt there is a birth control method in existence that could withstand his charms. In fact, I wouldn't put it past Jareth to have very persuasive sper—_

"Don't say it!" yelled Sarah out loud, and put her hands over her ears.

Her inner voice rolled its eyes. _I can't believe that you are still so prudish after being married to Jareth for almost a year. As I was saying, when the time comes, your eggs will probably just sit back and surrender to his persuasive—_

Sarah glared.

—_ness,_ the inner voice said smugly. _It's quite possible that you'll have octuplets._

Sarah's eyes widened in horror but then quickly narrowed in suspicion. "You're just trying to distract me, aren't you?"

The voice sighed. _Shucks. My dastardly plan to stop you from overreacting to a non-existent problem is foiled by your quick thinking. _The voice peered behind Sarah and smiled triumphantly. _Actually, nothing distracts better than a dyslexic, cross-dressing goblin. Here's one I prepared earlier..._

Sarah turned and saw a small group of goblins heading her way, one of whom was wearing stilettos.

"Hey Queen-Lady!" they called.

Sarah tried her very best to give them a bright smile. "Hey fellas! How's your day been so far?"

"We learnt a new word!" Ignor said, proudly.

"De-fe-ne-stra-tion," Skeep sounded out.

Sarah blinked. "That's a big word. Do you happen to know what it means?"

Squibble nodded. "From the song, we figured that it means 'to be kicked out of a tower window whilst holding a potted plant'."

The goblin with the blue tusks nodded. "The King was doing a lot of defenestration this morning."

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Was he? I believe the King and I will have to have a conversation about his song choices." Then she remembered she was avoiding the King. "I'll do it tomorrow."

The goblins sat down on the grass at her feet. Skeep carefully climbed onto the bench and sat beside her, his rubber duck placed safely between them.

"Pretty," he said, patting Sarah's velvet gown.

Sarah smiled and adjusted his tea-cosy hat. "Thanks."

Ignor cleared his throat. "The King sent us out to find out why you're sad."

"He said to be supple about it," added Squibble.

"That means 'to be able to perform bending or twisting movements with ease'," said the goblin with the blue horns.

"We looked it up," Squibble said, proudly.

Skeep stood up on the bench and began to jiggle his hips, his hula skirt moving wildly around him. "Supple," he said in delight.

Sarah's lips quirked. "Ahhh, I think the word the King used was 'subtle' not 'supple'."

The goblins looked crestfallen.

"But nevertheless, that really is some lovely supple movement, Skeep," Sarah said, hurriedly.

"Thanks," Skeep said modestly, and sat back down beside her

"So, why are you sad, Queen-Lady?" asked Squibble.

Sarah sighed. "Do you guys know what Christmas is?"

The goblins shook their heads.

"It sounds like something tasty," said Squibble.

"Delicious," agreed Skeep.

Sarah smiled wistfully. "No, it's not something tasty—it's an Aboveground celebration that begins tonight, though people do eat tasty things at Christmas."

"I like Christmas already!" said Squibble, patting his stomach.

"Tell us more, Queen-Lady!" said Ignor.

Sarah took a deep breath and leaned toward the goblins. "Let me tell you about the perfect Christmas...."

The goblins scooted closer and watched her, wide-eyed, as she began to spin them a story about Christmas stockings and Santa Claus; spiced cookies and eggnog; the thick fall of powder-white snow and the cosy warmth of fireplaces; the fir scent of Christmas trees and the glitter of ornaments; jewel- colored gift wrapping and the hanging of mistletoe. And most of all, she told them about the Christmas carols that she had loved since she was a child.

Squibble's eyes widened. "You mean people are allowed to sing at Christmas?"

"Without being tossed into an oubliette?" clarified Ignor.

"Or into the Swamp?" added the goblin with the blue horns.

Sarah nodded. "Yep!"

"Lucky," said Skeep dejectedly.

"And everyone gets presents?" asked Squibble.

Sarah nodded.

"Anything they want?" asked the frypan goblin.

Sarah smiled and shook her head. "You can ask for anything you want, but that doesn't mean you'll get it. When I was four, I asked Santa Claus for a unicorn, but I got a doll instead."

"No!" yelled Squibble. "That's terrible!"

"Unfair," Skeep agreed, and patted Sarah's hand.

"You could have used the unicorn to smite your enemies," noted Ignor. "The doll is pretty useless."

"Unless she came with a weapon, like an axe. Did she come with an axe, Queen-Lady?" asked the goblin with the blue tusks.

Sarah's lips twisted into a smile. "Ahh…no. She came with a different outfit and a hairbrush."

The goblins looked outraged.

"Poor Queen!" they crooned.

"Bad present!" yelled Skeep, waving his fork around.

"So when is Christmas?" asked Ignor.

Sarah sighed. "Tonight. It starts at midnight. But there won't be a Christmas this year—not with my family in Hawaii."

Squibble threw his hands over his face. "This is the worst story I've ever heard."

"Sad," sniffed Skeep.

"Hey, hey!" she said, gathering them into a giant group hug. "No need to be sad! We have different holidays here, right? Like the Chicken-Toss Festival!"

"And the Buffing Festival," added the frypan goblin.

"And Turnip-a-thon," said Ignor.

Sarah nodded and released the goblins. "See? All of these are excellent holidays."

The goblin with the blue horns frowned. "But you don't get presents at the Chicken-Toss festival."

"But," said Squibble, raising his hand. "To be fair, you don't get kicked out of a window on Christmas, do you Queen-Lady? And that can be fun."

"Refreshing," noted Skeep.

The other goblins nodded.

Sarah tried very hard not to smile. "No you don't get to be kicked out of a window on Christmas. And there are far fewer chickens at Christmas than there are at the Chicken-Toss festival."

"Hmm, Christmas is sounding worse and worse every minute," noted the frypan goblin.

"Then again," said Squibble, "you are allowed to sing."

The goblins pondered whether singing outweighed the possible delights of occasionally being Rosalinda-ed out of a tower window.

Eventually Ignor sighed. "We'd better report back to the King; his kicking boots are getting pointier by the hour."

"Ouch," noted Skeep.

"Bye Queen-Lady!" they chorused, hurriedly giving her a hug.

"Quick, we'd better run!" yelled Ignor, moving quickly toward the garden entrance.

"YEAHHHY! Running!" Skeep said happily, as he clomped away.

The inner voice watched the goblins leave the garden thoughtfully. _It seems as though the jig is up. _

Sarah sighed. "You're right; Jareth must be getting anxious if he sent the gang out to find out what's wrong with me. I'd better talk to him before he seeks me out." Sarah looked up at the sky. "It's Christmas Eve Aboveground," she said, wistfully. "I should be celebrating with the people I love. And instead, my family is away, my husband is wearing armor, and I'm all…"  
_  
Irrational?_ Her inner voice said sympathetically. Seeing Sarah's glare, the voice cleared its throat. _Perhaps it's time to make new traditions?  
_  
Sarah thought about that for a moment. "You know—I think you're absolutely right! Perhaps it _is_ time to start focusing on making new traditions with Jareth rather than relying on those I had with my family."

_I agree. In fact, I'd like you to start a tradition that involves stripping Jareth naked and wrapping him up in a strategically-placed bow. _The voice paused. _It would have to be _quite _the bow. _

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Why do most of your suggestions inevitably involve getting Jareth naked?"

_It's my happy place, _the voice said dreamily.

Sarah pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "You really are no help to me at all."  
_  
Yes, but I'm all you've got, girl, _the inner voice said gleefully, patting her on the back. _Sucks to be you._

**

**AN #1:** As many of you guessed, Sarah was all wistful about Christmas, you clever things (well, it is a Christmas fic!). Though I enjoyed reading your (much better) suggestions for Sarah's dismay, particularly the suggestion that Sarah was disgruntled about her inability to find a non-carnivorous Christmas tree (thank you JollyPirate), or her envy over Jareth's ability to rock a pair of jeans (excellent suggestion, Doro neko). Though, Jareth is _most _displeased at the suggestion that he wasn't providing enough adult-type touching to satisfy his Queen (you're in big trouble for that one, StarieTartan! Really--he's applying another coat of peach lipgloss as I type). Many of you suggested that Sarah may be pregnant (and congratulations to Spotzle for actually being in that jolly state!) which makes me want to write a 'Sarah gets all impregnated' oneshot some time in the future, mainly so that the King gets a chance to strut around and revel in his virility.

So how will Jareth react to the news? Will there be sleigh bells and mistletoe? Or boggings and swampings? Review! Tell me your thoughts on what should take place during a goblin Christmas…

**Other comments: **

LDeetz: (Hands over a kidney-fork): Here, take this with you on your next DMV visit. Poke away!

Tempest S: As far as I know, Skeep isn't related to Beep and would probably deny it even if he was, after Beep made that nasty remark about the woeful lack of kicking power in Skeep's heels. (Skeep nods. "Jerk," he says, waving his kidney fork.)

cpt handel: Saxophones think you're sexy, too.

(and as always, many thanks to the mega-beta team of KnifeEdge, PhurieDae, and Kore-of-Myth!)


	4. Chapter 4

**AN #1**: Many, many thanks for all the diabolically brilliant reviews!! There were so many great ideas for goblin-based, Christmas catastrophes that I shall, of course, have to use them all.

And I am sorry that it has taken so long to update. I am well aware that Christmas has passed. Technically. However, there is still fruitcake on my shelf and a bottle of eggnog in my fridge, so until that disappears, we shall pretend that it is still Christmas, ok? (which should be a while longer, given that the eggnog contains enough alcohol to preserve it for the ages and the fruitcake weighs as much as a four year old child and tastes like the sweat glands of a donkey—_no-one_ is eating that thing; it will be on the shelf until the close of the next millennium).

**Chapter 4: ****The Truth is More Seasonal Than Delusion (or 'Ja-reth the Goblin King/Wasn't a very jolly soul/With glitter-shadow eyes/And leather-clad thighs/He was mighty sexy though')**

**  
**The small goblin posse ran into the throne room and were greeted by a great cheer from their peers. The King looked up from his crystal and beckoned them forward.

"Tell me what you have learnt," he said, tersely.

"She's sad about Christmas," said Ignor, adjusting his sieve hat.

Jareth lips curled into a sneer. "Christmas? That ridiculously puerile holiday with all the good cheer?"

The goblins nodded heartily.

"But why would she…?" He slapped his forehead in realization. "Of course! Sarah mentioned something about Christmas—her family is going away or some such thing."

"Yep," said Squibble.

"Hawaii," answered Skeep, patting his hula skirt fondly.

Jareth threw his hands into the air and spun around on the spot. "Ha!" he cried triumphantly. "This is easily remedied. She is distressed because she misses her family. Perhaps we shall throw her a Christmas party to cheer her up. What say you?"

"YEAHHHYY!" the crowd cried.

Instantly, the King's jewel-y jewel-y black armor disappeared and was replaced with his customary dark brown leather pants and white poet shirt. His subjects heaved a collective sigh of relief.

Jareth draped himself over his throne and tapped his lip with one gloved finger. "I'm not sure about the specifics of this holiday…"

"We know! King, we know!" yelled Skeep, as he jumped up and down.

Jareth waved his hand, imperiously. "Very well; you lot will be in charge of organizing this party."

The goblin with the blue tusks clapped his hands. "Well make it just like an Aboveground Christmas celebration."

"See that you do," Jareth said, threateningly. "In the meantime, I shall ensure that the Queen is occupied. Let's see if she has moved from the Queen's Garden, shall we?"

With a rather showy hand movement, he flicked the crystal from palm-to-palm and began to spin it, leisurely.

Squibble cleared his throat. "Ahh Majesty, should we invite the man?"

Jareth halted mid-spin. "What man?"

"The one that the Queen is missing," answered Squibble.

"WHAT!?" yelled the King.

Jareth jumped up from the throne and threw the crystal as hard as he could at the far wall. Unfortunately, it ricocheted, knocking four goblins to the ground, including one who had the misfortune to fall, nose-first, onto an apple that had been sitting rather innocently on the throne room floor.

"Gah!" yelled the goblin, as he tried to remove the apple from his left nostril.

The crowd roared with laughter. Skeep sighed and offered him his fork.

"Thwanks," wheezed the goblin, and began to poke futilely at the piece of fruit protruding from his nostril

"Shut up!" yelled the King. He reached down and grabbed Squibble by the throat and lifted him up until the suspended goblin was at eyelevel.

"Tell me," Jareth said in a deathly quiet tone, "all about the man that my wife is missing and leave nothing out, or I shall swamp you…then bog you…then swamp you again."

"Oooooohhhh!" the congregation crooned, deliciously horrified.

"Messy," Skeep noted.

"I can't remember his name. 'Sandy Horse' or something…," Squibble began.

"Sarah's paramour is part equine?!" Jareth said incredulously. Squibble just looked at him blankly. "Go on," the King bit out.

"He sits on a chair, like a throne!" Squibble squeaked.

"Yes?" the King said, tersely.

"And he laughs!"

Jareth gave Squibble a shake. "And?"

"He has small creatures working for him," Squibble wailed, his stripey-socked legs flailing in the air.

"_And_?" Jareth said, impatiently.

"And he gives gifts!"

Jareth dropped Squibble on to the throne room floor, horrified. "_I_ sit on a throne, _I_ have small creatures working for me, _I_ laugh, _I_ give gifts; why does she need him?"

The goblins with the blue horns shrugged. "Maybe she wants a spare; you know, in case you break."

Jareth's eyes narrowed. "The only thing that's about to break is every bone in that wife-thief's body!"

"That's a lot of breaking," noted Ignor.

"Quite," Jareth bit out. He quickly formed a crystal. "Show me this..._Sandy Horse_," he sneered.

For a moment, he stared at the vision in the centre of the crystal in disbelief.

"Surely not…?" he muttered and twisted the crystal once more to the left.

But the vision was exactly the same. Jareth's relief was so palpable that he began to laugh uproariously.

"What, King?" asked Skeep.

Jareth smirked triumphantly and lowered the crystal. "Behold my rival. _Santa Claus._" He looked a Squibble in disgust. "Sandy Horse?"

Squibble shrugged apologetically.

"Nitwit," Jareth muttered.

The goblins gathered around the crystal and began to howl with laughter.

The goblin with the blue tusks tried unsuccessfully to muscle his way to the front.

"What am I missing? What's so funny?" he asked, jumping up and down.

"Christmas man _fat,_" gasped Skeep, falling backwards in laughter, his little stilettos kicking the air.

"And he has a beard!" laughed Ignor.

"And wears red!" gasped Squibble.

"Like hairy tomato!" yelled Skeep.

Jareth wiped the mirth from his eyes and smiled a rather chilling smile. "What do you say, my fine fellows? Aside from the fact that he is completely mythical, do you _really_ think he's competition for Sarah's affections?"

The goblins guffawed in a way that was exceedingly gratifying to the King's ego.

Even so, the King's expression darkened. "Then again, there is the very remote possibility that Sarah has a penchant for portly, garishly-dressed geriatrics."

Skeep's little face scrunched up in fury. "No!" he yelled, waving his fork. He then patted the King on the leg. "King pretty," he said, consolingly.

"I thank you for your endorsement," Jareth said, dryly.

Ignor took another look at Santa Claus and shrugged. "To be honest, Majesty, it didn't sound like she missed him; rather she missed the fact that he wasn't around to give her presents. That's his job."

"But he's not very good at it; he didn't give the Queen what she wanted," added Squibble.

Jareth's eyes narrowed. "Explain," he said tersely and tensed his gloved hand into a fist; Santa Claus would be a large read _smear _if he had offended his wife.

"Well, when she was little, she wanted a unicorn…," began Squibble.

Jareth nodded sagely. "An excellent choice. She could have used the unicorn to smite her enemies."

Ignor's eyes brightened. "That's what I said!"

"But she didn't get one," Squibble continued. "She got a doll instead."

Jareth became very, very still. "Tell me that the doll came with an axe."

The goblins shook their head sadly. Skeep shuffled up to the throne on his stilettos and then stood on his tip toes until he was close to the King's ear.

"Hairbrush," Skeep whispered.

Jareth looked disgusted. "They left her completely defenseless!"

The goblins muttered angrily in agreement.

"Well," Jareth said briskly, "that shall be remedied. She shall get her unicorn this Christmas." He peered closer at the crystal. "What _is_ that plastic thing behind Santa Claus? Is it some sort of shrub?"

"Christmas tree, King," said Skeep authoritatively.

Ignor nodded. "Apparently people like trees at Christmas."

"And kissing weeds!" added Squibble.

Jareth lifted a magnificently arched brow. "_Kissing weed?_"

The goblin with the blue horns nodded wisely. "Yep. If you stand under it with someone, you have to kiss them."

"Romantic," said Skeep, patting his rubber duck on the head.

"That would depend on who you are standing next to," said the goblin with the blue horns. "I wouldn't want to kiss a fiery."

"Hairballs," noted Skeep.

"Or someone who had been bogged," added Squibble.

"Not tasty," agreed Skeep.

Snoz, one of the goblins who had been bogged earlier that morning, sighed dejectedly, and continued to douse himself with apple-scented fabric softener.

Jareth carefully turned the crystal so that he had a better view of Santa Claus and the Christmas scene. "I want this Christmas to be perfect; infinitely superior to any that Sarah may have experienced Aboveground. She will have everything she wants; the tree, the unicorn, the…," he rolled his eyes, "_kissing weed._ Though no one goes under that piece of foliage with Sarah except me, is that understood?"

"Crystal clear, Your Majesty," said Squeak.

Jareth placed his hands on his hips. "Well? What are you waiting for? You have four hours until Christmas—I suggest that you get Aboveground and start gathering what we will need."

"Ok King!" yelled Skeep.

The goblins began to run around the throne room—some of them just for the hell of it.

"Ahh Majesty?" said Ignor.

"Yes?"

"Would you like us to steal the Santa Claus?"

Jareth tapped his lip thoughtfully. "No. If Sarah is going to sit on anyone's lap it shall be mine," he said, with a pointy smile.

****

**AN #2: **Meanwhile, up-and-coming Underground gigolo, Sandy Horse, was rolling around the floor of his bedroom, struggling to put on a pair of skin-tight, brown-leather pants that looked suspiciously like those favored by a certain all-singing, all-bogging, monarch.

Two hours and a whole packet of 'I can't believe it's not butter' later, Sandy stared smugly at his leather-clad reflection and tried not to notice that he was losing circulation in the lower half of his body. He began to cautiously strut around in front of the mirror, just to get the blood flowing, and was pleased to note that strutting made him look rakishly handsome. He pondered whether or not he should also purchase some of that frosted eyeshadow to give him a hint of drama. Or some glittery lip-balm. _Oh yes, _he thought gleefully, _the ladies will be mine. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Author Note #1: Ahhh…let's just pretend that it's still Christmas and not January. Not January. At. All. Uhm…ho, ho…yeah. **

**Chapter 5: On the second hour till Christmas, my true love gave to me (a naked dwarf and a piece of broccoli)**

**Two hours till Christmas**

By the time the members of the Aboveground raiding party (code name: 'Get Christmas or Get Bogged') finally entered the throne room with their sacks full of pilfered Christmas bounty, Jareth had been pacing the dais long enough to leave a path of glitter an inch thick on the stone floor. More disturbingly, his boots were getting pointier-and his lips glossier-by the second. The goblins noticed these ominous changes and quickly shuffled into the room.

"Well, it's about bloody time," Jareth announced, narrowing his eyes at the bulky red sacks that the goblins had dragged into the room (though he secretly approved of the fact that many of the objects within appeared to be shiny).

But before he could beckon the goblins over to him, Squibble broke away from the mob, ran over to an ale barrel, and hugged it.

"It's so good to be home," he sobbed joyously.

Jareth turned to the other goblins who had just returned from Aboveground. "What the devil happened to him?"

Ignor snickered. "A couple of little girls spotted him while we were stealing—"

The King held up his hand, interrupting Ignor's dialogue. "Now, now; what is the term we prefer?"

Ignor shook his head apologetically. "Sorry, you Majesty. A couple of little girls spotted him while we were _liberating_..."

Jareth nodded approvingly.

"...some of the Christmas decorations from the toy section of a store. He couldn't disappear without arousing suspicion, so he just stood really, really still and they mistook him for a toy."

"A real ugly one," Beep snickered.

"Troll Doll," Skeep said authoritatively.

Ignor continued. "And they tried to play with him."

Squibble wailed, burying his face in his hands. "It was terrible! They kept touching me and their hands were sticky! So, so sticky," he sobbed.

Beep snickered. "And then they did his hair."

Jareth peered disdainfully at the rows of pink ribbons and candy canes arranged haphazardly around Squibble's pointy head. "So I see." He shook his head. "The poor little imbecile."

Ignor nodded in agreement. "Worse still; they made him play kissy-kissy games with one of the other toys."

The goblins looked scandalized.

"Was it at least a pretty doll?" asked Snoz.

Skeep shook his head sadly. "Purple dinosaur."

The goblins muttered in sympathy.

Squibble wailed louder. "I feel so dirty! No amount of fabric softener can make me clean!"

Skeep patted Squibble gently on the back. "Traumatic."

"Quite," agreed the King. "Though your sacrifice for the kingdom shall be rewarded. In fact," he walked toward Squibble and bent down so that he was at eye-level with the desolate goblin, "I shall make you _Prince of the Land of Stench_," he announced dramatically, making an elaborate hand gesture to denote the awesomeness of the title.

"Ooooooohhhhhh," the crowd crooned.

Squeak cleared his throat respectfully. "Ah, your Majesty, isn't Hoggle already the _Prince of the Land of Stench_?"

Jareth stood up quickly to his full height. "Damn, so he is. Blasted dwarf. Though," he said, thoughtfully, "I could strip him of the title."

Squeak raised an eyebrow. "Of course you could, your Majesty. However, the current law states that the only way to strip a Goblin Prince of his title is to forcibly evict him from the Goblin Kingdom..."

Jareth looked supremely unconcerned by this pronouncement.

"...by flinging him naked over the outer wall..."

Jareth merely blinked.

"...by means of a catapult..."

Jareth brushed a speck of glitter off his leather glove.

"...filled with feral chickens."

"I always liked that law," said the goblin with the blue tusks. "It's kinda like being Rosalinda-ed long-distance except with company."

Skeep nodded. "Refreshing."

Jareth nodded. "Very well then; round up the chickens and denude that wretched dwarf. We'll do it right after Christmas."

"YEAHHYYYYY!" the goblins cheered.

Squeak cleared his throat. "Ahh, your Majesty, don't you think that there may be a problem with this plan?"

Jareth tapped his chin, thoughtfully. "Nothing springs to mind. Or are we out of catapults?"

Ignor shook his head. "We've got several in the shed."

Jareth smiled a rather malicious smile.

"Hang on, do we have enough feral chickens?" asked the goblin with the blue tusks.

The goblin with the blue horns raised his arm excitedly. "We could put him in the catapult with Rosalinda."

Rosalinda looked up from where she had been doing something suspicious and a touch nefarious in a corner of the throne room and began listening to the conversation with growing interest. Any scheme that involved an airborne assault was definitely worth participating in.

Jareth's smile become, quite impossibly, more malicious. "Excellent! I'll be ridding myself of two imbeciles with the one catapult."

He sighed in profound contentment—the kind of profound contentment that can only be attained by tossing two of your mortal enemies over your boundary walls into whatever lay beyond. Jareth made a mental note to ensure that 'whatever lay beyond' was prickly and possibly poisonous and caused rashes in exposed areas.

Squeak cleared his throat, waking Jareth from his blissful musings. "Uhm, I'm sure that Rosalinda could be persuaded to play her part in the scheme..."

Rosalinda clucked her agreement.

_"_...however, I doubt that _Her Majesty_ will be as amenable to the plan as the rest of us. She _is _oddly fond of Hoggle."

The King rolled his eyes. "You have a point. Damn that dwarf." He crossed the room and flung himself gracefully onto his throne. Absentmindedly, he picked up his riding crop and began to tap it against one of his boots. "Though, ready the catapult anyway; if Hedgewort should _just so happen_ to fall into the catapult whilst naked, and if the catapult should _just so happen_ to fling him, and the odd feral chicken, over the perimeter walls while Sarah is visiting her parents in the New Year, well...," he smiled a pointy, wolfish smile, "...accidents do happen. Especially to Hoggle." He paused. "As often as possible."

"Such a pity!" the goblins chorused.

"Indeed." Jareth turned his attention away from Squeak and pointed his crop at Squibble, who was still sitting dejectedly near the barrel of ale. "As for you, you shall become _Prince of the Swamp of Perpetual Suffering_," he said regally. "What say you?"

Squibble lifted his head from his hands and wiped his nose across his sleeve. "Ok."

Jareth nodded approvingly. "Excellent! Consider it done."

"YEAHHHHYYYYYY!" the crowd yelled.

Squibble perked up and tried to wave regally at his fellow goblins, but only managed to look as though he had developed some kind of shocking wrist deformity. His fellow goblins cheered him on regardless.

"Enough!" yelled Jareth, smacking his riding crop down hard on the armrest of his throne. "We're wasted more than enough time on this stupidity. Bring forth the supplies you have taken from Aboveground."

Quickly, the goblins hefted the sacks until they were lined up in front of the throne. The King looked over the loot skeptically. "Are you sure that this contains all that we need for Christmas?"

"Yep, King!" Skeep stated happily.

Jareth walked down from the dais and circled the sacks, peering inside each one. He gestured to the first sack with his crop. "Whatever is that shiny, plastic substance?"

"That would be tinsel, your Majesty," said Ignor.

Jareth picked up a long, green strand of tinsel with his riding crop. "Looks a little malevolent, doesn't it?"

The goblins nodded.

"Like a snake," said Squibble.

"Only shiny," added the goblin with the blue tusks.

Jareth narrowed his eyes. "Evil appearances aside, what the devil does it do?"

Ignor scratched his head. "Uhm, I think it's doing it right now."

The goblins all gathered closer, and watched closely as the piece of tinsel hung limply from the King's riding crop. When it became apparent that hanging limply was the extent of the tinsel's job description, the crowd all sighed in disappointment.

"Well, I don't know about you chaps, but I found that exceedingly anti-climactic," the King muttered.

Squibble nodded. "You'd think it could have danced a little."

"Or at least wriggled a little bit," added the frypan goblin.

"Not entertaining," Skeep agreed.

Bored, the King flicked the tinsel from his crop into the crowd where it promptly landed on Skeep.

Skeep grumbled as he carefully removed the tinsel from his head so as not to disrupt his tea-cosy hat. Cautiously, he brought the tinsel up to his pointy little nose and sniffed it.

"Dare you to taste it," Beep whispered.

Skeep stuck out his little tongue and carefully prodded the tinsel with the tip.

"Tongue...itchy!" he pronounced with delight. He sighed in contentment. "Shiny," he said, patting the tinsel. He carefully wound it around his neck like a feather boa.

Jareth rolled his eyes at Skeep's latest fashion faux pas. "Do tell me that you know how to assemble all this Christmas frippery. Or is the plan merely to put it on Skeep and then mount him to the wall?" he asked dryly.

"No need to worry, Majesty; we got an instruction manual!" said Ignor.

The goblins puffed up their chests proudly as Skeep ran up to the throne, his tinsel boa trailing along the floor behind him.

"Here, King!" he said, handing Jareth a book.

Jareth took the large tome and ran one gloved finger over the title. "_Twas the Night Before Christmas_, hmmm?" His eyes narrowed when he saw the garish picture of Santa Claus hugging a reindeer on the cover. "This had better not be a love story."

Squibble peered at the cover. "He does seem awfully fond of that reindeer..."

"Forbidden love," Skeep said with authority.

Jareth held the book further away from his body. "I don't know about you chaps, but I don't think that I want to know what happened on the night before Christmas between these two. Especially if there are illustrations."

Squibble's eyes widened.

Ignor moved his rusty sieve hat and scratched his hat. "I don't think it's a love story; the Queen said that she reads it to Toby every Christmas."

Jareth tapped his chin. "Well, that changes things; it seems unlikely that Sarah has been repeatedly exposing Toby to seasonal, inter-species pornography. Let's give it a try, shall we?"

"YEAHHHHYYY!" the goblins cheered.

The Goblin King settled back on his throne and flipped to the first page. He cleared his throat and began to read. "'Twas la noche antes de Navidad, cuando todo por la casa/No una criatura batía, ni un ratón." He paused. "What the devil is this?"

Skeep stood up on his tiptoes and leaned close to Jareth's ear. "Spanish version," he whispered loudly.

Jareth rolled his eyes. "Marvelous. I can't even trust you imbeciles to steal Christmas in the right language."

A small goblin cleared his throat. "You mean _liberate _Christmas, your Majesty."

Jareth's eyes narrowed. "Don't make me bog you, Tilk—I'm attempting seasonal cheer and frankly, it's losing its charm."

Tilk shuffled quickly behind a Christmas sack.

Squibble shook his head sadly. "Now we'll never know if Santa and the reindeer lived happily ever after."

Jareth sniffed. "It's doubtful. Given Santa's girth, he probably ate him the next time they were snowed in."

Squibble blew his nose loudly on his shirt sleeve. "It's a beautiful story...well, until the eating part."

Skeep nodded. "Romantic." He paused. "And tasty."

The frypan goblin also nodded his agreement. "Something for everyone."

Jareth sighed. "Are we _quite _finished discussing the Spanish misadventures of Santa and the reindeer who loved him? Or can we get on with the matter at hand?"

"Sure, King!" said Skeep.

The King flipped through the book. "Although you imbeciles have managed to impress me _yet again _with your inability to complete a task at a standard approaching even mediocrity, it appears that this book is not a total disaster as it has illustrations. Apparently, _this_ is what Christmas is supposed to look like."

He turned the book around to face the congregation.

"Ooooooohhhhhh," the crowd crooned.

"Just like the Queen Lady said!" Squibble said happily.

And it was. The picture showed the perfect Christmas; stockings hanging over an open fire; a plate of cookies and a glass of milk out for Santa; mistletoe above the doorway; the glittering Christmas tree and assorted ornaments decorating the room; a gentle snow falling against the window pane; and presents, shiny and be-ribboned, waiting beneath the tree.

"Now, it is your job to turn the throne room into _this_," Jareth said, pointing to the picture.

The goblins and the King all looked from the Christmas perfection of the picture to the chicken-strewn, filth-encrusted throne room.

Skeep shook his head. "Not easy."

"Indeed," the King drawled. He looked back at the picture. "Very well, let's start with the tree."

Proudly, the goblins reached into one of the sacks and pulled out what had originally been a large, fir tree branch. _Originally _being the operative word_._ It was now a bald collection of sticks with only the odd, tenacious scrap of foliage clinging to the withered bark beneath.

The Goblin King took one look at the stick, then at the picture, and then pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Tell me, my fine group of cretins; in this picture, is there or is there not, a lush, verdant, _tree_ in the corner of the room?"

The goblins gathered around closer to look at the picture that the King held out before him.

"Tree, King!" Skeep confirmed, nodding authoritatively.

Jareth stood up from the throne and began to circle the branch, looking at it from all angles. "Marvelous," the King said, with deceptive jollity. "Then why is that you have brought me—not a tree—but a _branch. _And not just any branch, but probably the single most decrepit and _diseased-_looking branch in the history of trees?"

"It's the best we could do, your Majesty!" said Ignor.

Jareth sneered. "The bloody thing is _bald _and...good heavens, is that a bite mark?" The King bent down to peer at what appeared to be teeth marks on the trunk of the branch.

Squibble covered his face with his hands. "Sorry. I missed dinner."

The King rolled his eyes. "How is it that you are able to take children from their beds in the dead of night with their families none the wiser, and yet you can't steal a tree?"

"Trees are large!" said Squibble.

"And prickly," said the goblin with the blue tusks.

"So we improvised," said Ignor.

"For what it's worth, _I_ like the Christmas branch," Squibble said loyally.

Skeep nodded and patted the branch. "Decrepit."

"Do you want us to go back Aboveground and try again?" Ignor asked.

The King looked up at the large clock suspended from the ceiling. "No time; just try to make the bloody thing festive."

"Got it," yelled Ignor, and dragged the branch off to a corner of the room. Several of the goblins trailed after him, dragging one of the sacks.

Jareth looked back down at the picture. "What of the kissing weed?"

The goblin with the frypan on his head quickly rummaged through his pocket.

"Ahh...we weren't sure but we think this is it," he said, handing Jareth a dark green piece of vegetation.

Jareth held the vegetation gingerly between his thumb and forefinger. "This," he said quietly, "is broccoli."

"Really?" said Beep, taking it from the King. "It looks kind of kissing-ish."

"It looks kind of evil to me," the frypan goblin said, sniffing at the broccoli.

"Are you sure it's not the kissing weed?" asked Squibble. He held it over Jareth's head. "Do you feel an urge to kiss someone?"

The King's eyes narrowed. "What I feel is a urge to _swamp_ someone. Possibly _repeatedly_."

Beep looked up at the broccoli dangling above the King's head.

"If 'kissing weed' leads to kissing then 'swamping weed' would lead to swamping, right? Maybe this is 'swamping weed'. Is that possible?"

"Shall we test it out?" the King asked rather pleasantly. "Allow me to hold it over your head and we'll see if you get swamped."

Beep opened his mouth to retort but was saved by the sound of high pitched screaming.

_Lots _of high pitched screaming.

Jareth and the rest of the goblins turned toward the far corner of the throne room, where several fairies were being forcibly tied to the Christmas branch.

"AGGGGGHHHHHHH!" one squealed, as Ignor tethered it in place with a chewed-up piece of tinsel.

Jareth raised an eyebrow at the branch, now festively covered in protesting fairies, ragged bits of tinsel, and the odd turnip.

"Not bad," he said approvingly. "The turnips are a rustic touch." He winced as the fairies began yelling at a higher pitch. "Gag those blasted fairies before we lose our eardrums."

"Got it, King!" Skeep said happily.

Jareth turned back to the goblins standing beside him. "Now, where were we?"

Squibble quickly hid the broccoli behind his back.

"Uhm...ahhh, we were about to show you this!" Ignor called out, thinking fast and reaching into the final sack.

With a flourish, he pulled out a crumpled Santa suit and handed it to Jareth.

"Did you have to _peel_ a Santa to get this?" he asked dryly.

"Yep!" said Skeep.

"He was pretty surprised," Beep snickered.

"I can only imagine."

"It wasn't easy either," said Squibble. "He was wriggly. And he wasn't happy about being left in his underwear."

"In the middle of the shopping mall," added Ignor.

"With all those people looking at him," snickered the frypan goblin.

The goblin with the blue tusks shook his head. "The people didn't seem happy either; there was a lot of screaming. Especially by the children."

Jareth raised one impossibly-arched brow. "Well, I'm sure it was an educational experience for all concerned; one that the children probably could have lived without, but educational nonetheless."

The goblins nodded in agreement.

The King shook the suit. "And what am I supposed to—"

The sound of a single bell rang out across the throne room. The goblins looked up a the clock suspended above their heads and shuddered.

Jareth also looked up at the clock and his expression darkened. "Christmas is only one hour and thirty minutes away. And do you know what that means?" He strode menacingly toward his subjects.

The goblins shook their heads and carefully edged closer to the doorway. It may have been their imagination, but their King's outfit appeared to get a little darker and the temperature of the throne room just a little chillier.

"It means," the King continued, "that you have only one hour and twenty-nine minutes to deck out this throne room so that it looks just like the picture...and that includes finding a unicorn for Sarah's Christmas gift."

The goblins gulped nervously.

"And if you don't, then I shall personally stuff all of you with ornaments and hang you over the Bog by your earlobes. Is that clear?"

Squeak cleared his throat. "Crystal, you Majesty."

With a final glare and a flashy swish of his cape, the King disappeared.

The goblins collectively exhaled.

"We're doomed!" yelled Squibble.

"Probably," Skeep agreed.

Beep sighed. "I'm going to wish for Santa Claus to take me away right now. Do you think that will work?"

The frypan goblin shrugged. "Worth a shot."

Beep closed his eyes. "I wish the Goblin King would take me away right now." He opened his eyes in horror and quickly clamped his hands over his mouth.

"AGHHHHHHHH!" yelled Squibble.

Beep quickly removed his hands from his mouth. "I mean the Santa Claus! I mean 'I wish that the Santa Claus would take me away right now'. Not the Goblin King. He doesn't have to take me anywhere."

"AGHHHHHHHH!" yelled the goblins.

"Why did you ask for the Goblin King to take you away!" yelled Squibble.

"Habit!" wailed Beep, covering his eyes again.

Skeep kindly patted Beep on the shoulder. "Screwed," he said sympathetically.

"Indeed," drawled a familiar voice.

Beep whimpered and refused to take his hands away from his eyes. "Santa?" he said, hopefully.

"Ho. Ho. Ho," Jareth said dryly. "Come, Beep." He grabbed the goblin by his earlobe. "Let me make all your Christmas dreams come true. Well," he amended, "those pertaining to hanging over the Bog…"

And with a cloud of glitter, they were gone.

**AUTHOR NOTE #2: **Across the room, Rosalinda—Chicken of Destiny—was oblivious to the Christmas atrocities being committed around her. Aside from a brief moment where she had entertained the possibility of an airborne attack against Hoggle, she was deeply immersed in planning Goblin King Assassination Attempt #23. It was a simple yet cunning plan, involving a fruit basket addressed to His Majesty and a great deal of plastic explosives. She looked up briefly to cluck a few expletives at her nemesis, interspersed with the odd derogatory cluck or two about his parentage and personal hygiene, when her attention was caught by a worm.

A glorious, long, green, _glittery _worm.

A worm of such succulence that she was compelled to abandon her vengeful plans and carefully stalk her prey as it slithered across the throne room floor.

_Yes, run my glittery_, she thought as she started to take chase. _Play hard to get_ _…_

_(MERRY CHRISTMAS! And, as always, a shout out to the gals of the Goblin Court. And many thanks to the beta-awesomeness that is PhurieDae!)_


	6. Chapter 6

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** (Lixxle looks up at her calendar. 'April' looks at her accusingly) Let's just _pretend_, my fine fellows, that it's still Christmas, shall we? Ho, ho...uhm. Merry April, to one and all! (most particularly to my jolly beta Phuriedae!)

* * *

**Chapter 6: With one hour till Christmas, my true love gave to me (diseased footwear and gagged fairies).**

**One hour till Christmas**

The Goblin King was in a remarkably jolly mood—there was nothing like suspending a cretin wrapped in tinsel over the Bog to brighten a (devilishly nefarious) man's day. Though, that jolly mood was sorely tested when he entered the throne room.

"What the devil is that horrific stench?" he said, gagging. He quickly grabbed a corner of his cloak and placed it firmly over his nose and mouth.

The room smelt like rotten eggs that had been drenched in expired mayonnaise and left out in the sun—until someone had come along and thoughtfully covered the mess with a bucket of long-deceased fish and a couple of burning tires.

The goblins stopped what they were doing and dutifully sniffed the air around them.

Ignor shrugged. "'Fraid I don't smell anything, Your Majesty."

The other goblins nodded in agreement.

Jareth tried to press the cloak closer to his nose but realized it was a futile gesture— the room was permeated with a foul funk that no mere cloak could mask. He dropped the cloak in disgust. "I have just been to the Bog and yet that smells positively _floral_ compared to the smell in this room. What. Did. You. Idiots. Do?"

The goblins merely stood there, puzzled. But by that point, the King had looked around the room and noticed something.

Several somethings, in fact.

And suddenly, the stench made sense.

"Tell me, my merry band of imbeciles—why are there _socks_ hanging from the walls?"

There were, indeed, socks hanging from the walls. And from the ceiling. And there were even some nailed to the floor. Lots of socks in every size and every length and every one of them dirty. Filthy, in fact. So filthy that many of them were home to various forms of moulds, fungus, and wildlife.

The goblins surveyed their handiwork rather proudly.

"At Christmas, you put socks up on the wall," explained the goblin with the blue tusks.

Squibble nodded. "The book said so." He held up the picture of the Christmas scene.

Jareth noted that the picture did, indeed, feature what appeared to be socks hanging from a wall.

"Very well, that explains the socks. But what about the underwear?" He waved his riding crop at several pairs of goblin-sized underpants that had been nailed haphazardly onto the walls.

The frypan goblin shrugged. "Ran out of socks," he said, gesturing to his feet.

Jareth tilted his head and bent down a little to better survey his subjects' feet. He noted that there were a lot of naked ankles peeking out from under their trousers. "So it appears."

Squibble sighed deeply. "I miss my socks."

The frypan goblin shrugged. "I don't miss my underpants."

Ignor nodded. "It's kind of liberating."

"Commando!" Skeep cried happily, wriggling his hips so that his hula skirt moved wildly from side-to-side.

Jareth closed his eyes. "I curse you for that mental image, Skeep."

The goblins snickered.

The fumes were beginning to make Jareth woozy; he tried not to inhale as he stood up. "Take your diseased underthings off my walls. Or I'll set fire to them...when you are next wearing them."

The goblins quickly scrambled to remove the underpants from the wall.

"AND the socks. Remove it all and then sanitize the entire room. Repeatedly."

Ignor nodded. "Right away, Your Majesty." He and a group of group of goblins ran quickly from the throne room to get the apple-scented fabric softener.

Squibble looked at the Christmas picture. "But if there are no socks, then the Queen Lady won't have her perfect Christmas!"

Jareth knocked a pair of underpants off the wall with his crop. "Nor will she catch some form of flesh-eating disease from being near your underwear. In this instance, I am willing to forsake authenticity for health and safety." The King looked around the room. "Aside from trying to turn my throne room into the next Bog, what else have you accomplished while I've been gone?"

Squeak cleared his throat. "The Christmas Branch is complete."

Jareth swung around to look at the branch, now completely covered in chewed up pieces of tinsel, turnips, and gagged fairies who were making rude gestures at the King. Jareth gave them a pointy smile and looked directly below the branch. He frowned. "Are those supposed to be presents?" He pointed to three oddly-shaped, brightly-wrapped, objects beneath the branch.

"Yes!" Squibble said excitedly. "Tilk and I wrapped them ourselves." He tapped one of brightly-colored rolls of wrapping paper lying on the floor.

Jareth looked at the oddly-shaped gifts below the branch. "Tell me, did you actually go out and procure gifts or did you just wrap whatever was in the general vicinity?"

Tilk puffed up his chest proudly. "Whatever was in the general vicinity."

The King nodded. "I thought as much. I take it that these fine presents are actually two ale barrels and a chair?"

Squibble looked at the King in awe. "How did you know?"

Jareth rolled his eyes. "When I left the room fifteen minutes ago, there were two ale barrels and a chair beside the Christmas branch. When I returned, there were three badly-wrapped presents in the _shape_ of two ale barrels and a chair beside the Christmas branch."

"Wow," said Tilk.

Squibble shook his head in admiration. "You're like a detective on that show the Queen Lady watches."

Jareth felt his ego preen a little at the compliment. "Really? Which one?"

"Charlie's Angels," supplied the frypan goblin

"The blonde angel wears peach lipgloss, too," Squibble noted.

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose. The sound of screaming, however, quickly brought his focus back to the throne-room.

"King! King! Help, King! HEEEEELP!" Skeep gurgled.

Jareth turned quickly toward the commotion, only to watch in mild horror as Rosalinda tried to escape the throne room with a long, green piece of tinsel. Problem was that the other end of the tinsel was wrapped, boa-style, around Skeep's neck.

"Rosalinda...strangle...gahhhh, King! GAHHHHHH!" Skeep rasped as he tore at the tinsel around his throat, his little face turning a shade of purple that clashed terribly with his red tea-cosy hat.

"Oh no! Rosalinda is strangling Skeep!" yelled the goblin with the blue horns.

"Not again!" wailed Squibble.

There was a flash of light and a puff of glitter and Rosalinda found herself suddenly suspended in mid-air, her little chicken legs still running. She paused and looked down to see her glittery, green prize on the throne room floor. She looked up and saw a pair of mismatched eyes directly in front of her, positively shining with malicious glee.

The King leisurely circled the suspended Chicken-Toss Champion. "Well, well—what have we here? Is this glorified feather duster having trouble controlling her murderous urges?"

Rosalinda clucked in agreement. Then went for the King's jugular.

Jareth deftly moved out of the way. "What's that you're saying?" He cupped a hand over his ear as if to enhance his hearing. "You're _volunteering_ to swim laps in the Swamp?"

Rosalinda clucked viciously.

"Tsk, tsk Rosalinda; I can assure you that my parents _were_ married prior to my birth, so that insult isn't particularly accurate."

Rosalinda continued to cluck.

The King raised an eyebrow. "And although my mother had many hobbies, I doubt exotic dancing was one of them."

Rosalinda clucked louder and accompanied her tirade with a series of complex claw gestures.

The King merely tilted his head. "Although I am rather flexible, I doubt that I'd be able to put that particular appendage where you have suggested. But I will take it under advisement."

Rosalinda began to hiss.

Jareth sighed in mock disappointment. "Really Rosalinda—it appears that you are sadly lacking in Christmas spirit. Allow me to assist you in getting into the mood." With a quick flick of his wrist, the King sent Rosalinda soaring toward Squibble and Tilk.

Squibble lunged toward her. "I've got you, Rosalinda!" he cried, trying to break her fall with his body.

Unfortunately, Rosalinda landed head-first onto his armored breastplate. Woozily, she rose to her feet.

Jareth rolled his eyes. "Wrap the chicken," he ordered.

Squibble crushed the villainous chicken to his chest. "NOooooooo! Not Rosalinda!"

The King ignored him. "I suggest you do it while she still has a concussion; she'll be less wrap-able once she regains her urge to kill."

Tilk nodded. "Right!" He promptly extracted Rosalinda from Squibble's grip and began to cover the swaying chicken with shiny, green wrapping paper.

Squibble sighed. "Well, I hope I get you for Christmas, Rosalinda," he said, patting the paper-covered chicken. "Aghhhhh!" he yelled, looking down at his pecked finger.

"Be sure to cover the beak," Jareth said mildly.

Tilk dutifully wrapped Rosalinda's entire head up in paper. He then took a length of ribbon from the floor and carefully tied it around the wrapped chicken.

"Tighter," Skeep said vindictively.

Jareth stared down at Skeep, noting his bright red face. "Recovered?"

Skeep nodded fiercely. "Yes." He pulled his ultra-buffed fork from his hula skirt and began to stalk the wrapped chicken.

The King put a restraining hand on Skeep's thin, little shoulder. "If I were you, I'd wait until after Christmas dinner; there's sure to be a few of those large serving forks lying about."

Skeep's eyes widened. "Ok, King!" he said happily, putting away his fork. He carefully patted the King's leg. "Thank you." Noting the luxurious fabric of the King's breeches, he patted his leg again. "Pretty," he said dreamily.

Jareth glared down at the small goblin. "Skeep, if you continue to pat my leg as if it were a chihuahua there will be consequences."

Skeep quickly removed his hand away from the King's leg. "Ok, King!" he said happily, and walked away.

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose—it was beginning to become a habit—and then abruptly looked up. "What _is _that hissing sound?" His eyes narrowed on the blue-horned goblin who was gleefully throwing eggs into a large metal trough. He quickly crossed the throne room and bent closer to the trough, though not _too _close; the contents were hissing and spitting vindictively. "What _are_ you doing?"

"Making egghog," said the blue-horned goblin, stirring the mixture vigorously. "It's a Christmas drink that the Queen Lady likes."

Jareth raised one eyebrow. "Egg hog? Tell me that there isn't a pig swimming around in there."

The goblin shook his head. "Oh no, Majesty—there's only eggs."

"And ale!" yelled the frypan goblin, as he poured a full tankard into the mix and ran off to the barrel to get more.

The blue-horned goblin stirred in the ale. "And—." He stopped abruptly when he noticed that his metal spoon had melted away.

"…pure evil," Jareth finished.

The goblin looked down at the mixture, perplexed. "Maybe it needs more ale." He ran off to get another tankard.

"More likely an exorcism," Jareth said drolly and then began to laugh. He looked over his shoulder at the two small, black chickens who were the only ones in his vicinity.

"Well?" he said, hands on his hips. "Laugh."

One of the chickens clucked cautiously. The other chicken, who had been sipping from a puddle of ale, merely belched.

The King sighed. "I really don't know why I bother. I have a good mind to wrap you both." The first chicken carefully backed away until she was hidden behind a Christmas sack. The other gave an apologetic cluck and passed out.

Jareth rolled his eyes and began to tour the room. He nodded approvingly at the small group of goblins who were dousing the walls with fabric softener to lessen the sock stench, and narrowed his eyes at Tilk and Squibble as they began a futile campaign to wrap the freezer alligator. Finally, he paused in front of two goblins, one of whom was spray-painting the other white.

Jareth tapped one finger against his chin. "I'm not sure if I _want_ to know, but I clearly have masochistic tendencies because I am going to ask anyway; why is it that you are painting Vetzel white?"

The goblin with the blue tusks ceased his spraying. "I'm turning him into a snowman."

Vetzel nodded in agreement, his long earlobes swinging with the motion.

"Of course," the King deadpanned. "However, why are you painting _inside _his mouth?"

"Authenticity," stated the goblin with the blue tusks.

The King shrugged. "Who am I to argue with the creative process? Carry on."

"Thanks Majesty!" said the blue tusked goblin. He turned back to Vetzel, frowning when he noticed that Vetzel's mouth was closed. "Open up!"

Vetzel dutifully opened his mouth. "It burns!" he yelled as the tusked goblin began spraying his gums.

The goblin with the blue tusks stopped. "In a good way or a bad way?"

Vetzel paused to consider the question. "In a good way, actually. Keep going!"

Jareth smirked at the two goblins and walked back toward his throne. He watched as Squeak carefully hung glittery ornaments from the throne's bone frame.

"Nice touch."

Squeak bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Jareth sat down on the throne, assuming his usual indolent pose. He idly tapped his crop against the ornaments attached to the frame. "Tell me, have they found Sarah's unicorn yet?"

Squeak shook his head. "Not yet, Your Majesty."

Jareth slapped his riding crop hard against the throne, sending the ornaments swinging. "What is taking them so damn long?"

Squeak cleared his throat, nervously. "Ahh, do keep in mind, Your Majesty, that we don't really have the right bait."

Jareth thought about that for a moment. "Hmm, I guess we are running a little low in virginal maidens. What are they using instead?"

At that moment, Skeep shuffled into the throne room in his dirty pink stilettos. Instead of his usual hula skirt, he was wearing a small, pink net skirt that was speckled with glitter and, oddly enough, a few pieces of bacon. One of his little hands was clutching what appeared to be a fire poker; the other was patting the rather garish platinum blonde wig perched precariously on his small, pointy head.

"Hi King!" he said, waving.

Jareth watched Skeep shuffle toward one of the corridors, his little blonde wig fluttering in his wake. "Squeak," he said quietly. "Please tell me that we aren't using Skeep in a _tutu_ to attract the unicorn."

Squeak cleared his throat again. "Ahh, afraid so, Your Majesty."

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're doomed."

Squeak nodded. "Possibly. Though, if the unicorn isn't attracted to Skeep _per se_, he should be lured by the bacon."

Jareth considered that for a moment and then nodded in approval. "At least there's a contingency plan." His eyes narrowed as he watched Skeep trip over a turnip and land face-down on the throne room floor, his little heels waving frantically in the air. "Aren't there dark creatures in the woods that may also be lured by the bacon?"

Squeak nodded gravely. "Probably, Sire. That's why he's carrying the poker."

Jareth blinked at that. Then shrugged. "Very well, carry on. And be sure to alert me once the unicorn has been located." He paused, watching Skeep rise unsteadily onto his heels, only to trip again on the turnip. "That is, if Skeep ever leaves the throne room."

Two goblins rushed to Skeep's rescue, only to be felled by the wretched turnip themselves. The King took one look at the writhing heap of goblins and sighed.

"Bog that turnip. I'll be in my chambers."

"Very well, Majesty," Squeak sighed.

* * *

It was with a profound sense of relief, and a good pinch of gleeful liberation, that Jareth found himself alone in his chambers. He allowed himself a moment to lean against the solid, oak door and simply soak in the silence. He took a deep breath, marvelling at the goblin-free scent of his chamber, and started to feel his sanity returning in small, bite-sized increments.

His beautiful moment, however, was ruined by the sound of his inner voice, tapping its foot impatiently.

_All this basking in the ambience is all well and good, but there are precious few minutes to waste before this Christmas farce of yours is set to begin and you are dressed inappropriately. _The voice paused. _Well, more so than usual..._

Jareth rolled his eyes and looked down at the Santa suit that was draped across the bed. Picking it up, he glanced at the label sticking out from the coat. "_Polyester_," he said, with sort of disgust most people used to describe the stench emanating from the Bog.

His inner voice snorted. _It's a good thing that 'polyester' doesn't come from an animal; can you imagine how many would have sacrificed their lives for the fur trim alone?_

"Given the girth of the man, they would have probably become extinct after making this suit." He rubbed the fabric between his thumb and forefinger and grimaced. "Well, here goes."

With a flick of his wrist, the King was suddenly wearing the suit, magically adjusted to fit his slender frame. He took one look at himself in the full-length mirror and then abruptly stepped back in horror. "Good lord, I look like a rancid tomato."

_Quite,_ the voice said agreeably. _That particular shade of red clashes with your...whole body, actually. _

"Hmm, I agree. Let's see if we can take care of that, shall we?"

Jareth snapped his fingers. In an instant, the suit turned an exquisite shade of bright gold, liberally flecked with glitter.

_And now you look like a Christmas ornament. _

Jareth gave his inner voice an extremely dirty look. He took one last, lingering glace at all that gold glitter and then snapped his fingers again.

The inner voice eyed the King's shiny green ensemble sceptically. _And now you look like a string-bean in drag. _

Jareth raised an eyebrow at his reflection. "Transvestite produceis not exactly the look I was going for..."

_Really? _the voice said, dryly. _With you, it's often difficult to tell..._

Jareth manfully ignored the voice and snapped his fingers one last time. The suit turned red again, but this time it was the color of dried red rose petals and old, dark blood.

The voice nodded approvingly. _Much better—seasonal yet sinister. _

"Oddly enough, that is exactly the look that I was going for." Jareth plucked fitfully at the fabric that covered his torso. "Though the ensemble still needs something..."

With a few quick tugs, the Santa suit coat was pulled open, baring his chest to just above his navel.

_And who would have thought that the 'something' would be nudity? _the voice said dryly.

"As you are well aware, nudity is the finishing touch to most of my ensembles," Jareth said with a leer. "Besides, the nudity is necessary to draw attention away from the polyester."

The voice nodded solemnly. _We must do all we can to detract from the polyester._

The King began to pace in front of the mirror, his amulet sparkling with seasonal cheer against the frost-pale skin of his chest. His joy at strutting was cut short when the polyester snagged on his boots. He grimaced. "Authenticity be damned; polyester isn't even fit to clothe Rosalinda."

With a wave of his hand, the polyester turned into butter-soft leather. Lots and lots of lovely, lovely leather.

_Ahh, _the voice said approvingly. _A festive bordello jumpsuit._

Jareth leered at his reflection. "Ho, ho, ho," he said silkily.

The inner voice raised an eyebrow. _I do hope that the real Santa doesn't use that tone of voice with children._

"One _would_ wonder about his motivation..."

With a contented sigh, Jareth began to slink around the mirror, executing a turn with feline grace. He hummed contentedly as he noted the excellent view from behind, and his slink became more of a strut as he worked the bordello jumpsuit through its paces.

Before the preening session could become a full-blown song-and-dance tribute to the glorious qualities of red leather, the inner voice cleared its throat purposefully.

_Although the gift of you in this particular suit should provide hours of pleasure..._

"_Days_ of pleasure," the King interrupted.

The inner voice rolled its eyes._ Your modesty is overwhelming. _Nevertheless, it gave the King an approving nod. _As I was saying— although the gift of you in this particular suit shall invoke a rather favorable response in the Queen... _

Jareth smirked.

_...perhaps_ another_ type of gift is in also order, especially given Sarah's behavior of late...?_

Jareth pretended to be vastly interested in his boots. "She _is_ getting a unicorn." He bent down and brushed a non-existent scuff mark from his heel.

The inner voice raised its eyebrow. _You know what you need to give her._

"No," he said flatly.

The voice merely glared at him meaningfully.

Jareth stood to his full height, his hands fisted at his sides. "_No, _and there is nothing you can do to change my mind."

_Really? _

Jareth's mind was suddenly filled with a vision of Hoggle decked-out in hot pink French lingerie and a come-hither smile.

"Curse you!" Jareth yelled. "Make it stop!"

_Will you do it?_

Jareth paused. The image of Hoggle began what could only be described as a 'bump and grind' dance routine. It was clumsy and terrifying and almost enough to crush Jareth's will to live and turn his libido into a desiccated husk. Teasingly, Hoggle began to lower one of his bra straps.

"Yes!" Jareth said desperately. "Just get rid of that bloody thing."

Hoggle blew him a kiss and then disappeared.

Jareth sighed in relief. "If you _ever _do something like that again..."

The voice raised a hand to stop his rant. _It hurt me just as much as it hurt you. _

"Well, that's a consolation." Jareth rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "I believe I'll need to bleach my brain to rid it of that image."

_I'm sure a glass of the egg-hog will do the job admirably._

The King snorted. "I have a feeling that egg-hog will be the equivalent of a liquid lobotomy." He looked up at his reflection once again. "You do know, of course, that she could use that gift to leave here. Forever."

The voice rolled its eyes. _For a narcissistic, ego-maniacal despot, you are wretchedly insecure when it comes to Sarah. Aside from this past episode, it appears that she is rather happy in this ridiculous little kingdom of yours. What you need to understand is that to _keep _her here forever, all you need to do is show her a little trust..._

The King's shoulder's slumped.

..._and perhaps a little more crotch._

Jareth perked up immediately. "Right. The pants could be tighter..."

_They can _always_ be tighter, _ the voice agreed. Though he winced at Jareth's next transformation. _Perhaps not _that _tight—that form of constriction is bound to have unfortunate ramifications..._

Reluctantly, Jareth let the pants out a little.

The voice nodded approvingly. _Better safe than sorry._

Jareth's perusal of his pants was interrupted by a sudden knock on the chamber door.

"KING! King, open door! KING! K-I-N-G!"

Jareth rolled his eyes. "Enter, Skeep!"

The door opened to reveal the small goblin. Jareth stepped back from the mirror, turned toward Skeep, and struck a pose. "Well?"

Skeep looked at the King's outfit up and down and then nodded in satisfaction. "Groiny," he said approvingly.

The King smirked. "I thought so myself."

He looked critically at Skeep's appearance. The little goblin was still gowned in his platinum wig and tutu, though both were a little worse for wear; the tutu was torn at the back and trailing tulle, and his little wig had been knocked askew. Yet, despite the grass stains on his knees and the odd bit of bacon still sticking to his skirt, Skeep seemed rather jolly.

"Hmm, let me guess; by your appearance, it seems that the unicorn put up a fight. Is that so?"

Skeep nodded happily. "Yep, King!"

"Though I am assuming that your presence in my chamber means that you caught him in the end?"

Skeep nodded again. "Yep, King!" He brandished his fire poker triumphantly. "KIDNEYS!"

Jareth stared dubiously at the poker. "If you have punctured Sarah's unicorn with that thing, I shall be seriously displeased."

Skeep shook his little head. "Unicorn ok, King. Not hole-y."

"Thank goodness for small mercies." Jareth glanced over at the clock suspended above the mirror. "Two minutes till Christmas. Come, come, Skeep—let's get this atrocity started."

The inner voice cleared its throat. _I believe you still have a gift to prepare..._

Jareth's shoulders stiffened for a moment, then abruptly slumped in defeat.

"Very well—but if she leaves, the blame will lie with you."

The voice snorted. _Should she even _attempt_ to leave, all you'd have to do is tighten those pants of yours and distract her into staying..._

Jareth looked down at his trousers and nodded in agreement. "If all else fails, there is always the pants..."

"YEAAAHHYY pants!" Skeep cried happily, stomping to the door in his heels.

_Yeahhhy pants, _the inner voice echoed, dryly.


End file.
